G S Martin

“Flume of Doom” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #285

Content warning: Strong language The infamous' Flume of Doom' is like an enormous roof gutter running north to south through Utah, channeling summer run-off from the Wasatch Range.    And here you are, with your girl, Debbie, and best friend, Kirk, peering down at the rushing water. This is the entry point for daredevils and idiots. And you, sir, are no daredevil.    This is where you and your friends might be cutting your little road trip short because you're about to stand on the brink of uncertainty...

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“Don't Let the Sun Come Up On Me” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #279

“Hello, Jake.” “Hello, Mr. Quiet.”  “Why are you lying under the coffee table, Jake?” “I’m not sure, Mr. Quiet.”  “Because you’re dying, son.”  “No, you got it wrong Mr. Quiet. I just need to rest.”  “You’ve been resting on the floor for five days, Jake.”  “You’re wrong Mr. Quiet. It’s only been a couple hours.”  “I have a question for you Jake. Are you afraid?”  Afraid of what, Mr. Quiet?”  “Your eminent death. It must be your worst nightmare.” &n...

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“The Camera's Favorite Vixen” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #276

  It was a beautiful ceremony filled with love and light. Blanche was her Christian name, Blanche White Horse. The beloved matriarch of the tribe. 112 years old. Some say she’s a dozen years older than that. Mother, Grandmother, Great, and Great Great to scores of tribal members, living and dead.                                       &...

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“How to Make a Ghost” by G S Martin

murder. suicide, violence. gore. angry ghosts.  Let's face it: 1966 was a bad year. Everything from 'race relations' to 'hairstyles' was bad. Leaded gasoline was bad.  Dishwashers, terrible.      Frozen dinners. Cat litter. All bad. And '66 was bad for GlenRio. Interstate 15 opened nine years earlier, hoovering all the weary travelers away. Sucking the life out of this one-trick tourist town. And as for door-to-door salesmen, extinction was drawing near… the smattering of ...

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“Strolling with the Devil” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #274

mental illness. self harm. gore.I fell down and couldn’t get up. That was five days ago. My cell phone sits on the cluttered coffee table two feet above my head, hopelessly out of reach. But no matter, it died three days ago.  The chair legs have become towering redwoods, the couch, a mile-high fake suede un-climbable wall.  Thirst. That's what gets you. In the movies, your lips dry up. You stumble through the desert. Bad Hombres with full canteens find you crawling, begging… YOU: Water! PleeezGimmeSomeWATER!&nb...

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“The Burning Woman” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #272

August 1760  Pouring out of the south with righteous attitude, Comanche raiders swept over the Ranches of Taos.                        They took fifty-six women and children, a considerable percentage of the Ranchos' population, leaving behind the dead and broken, their homes razed, and their livestock slaughtered. Their sisters and daughters...poof!  Some of these ranches survived.   &nbs...

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“Hombre de Agua” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #261

He couldn't play the guitar.                                                                Neither could I. But we were smitten with the art of music and strived to understand the craft of it. We spent countless hour...

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“The Wonderful Victims episode one” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #260

crude language blatant stupidity1984 We grieve as the 'New Wave' recedes into history, leaving behind nothing but pools of brackish memories.  Meanwhile, the wretched 'Big Hair' band grows in pomposity like quaffed dust bunnies.  Gone are the 'Police' and 'Cars.'  Hello 'Ratt' and 'Poison.'                                     ...

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“Gwen” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #255

GWEN  WHITE SCREEN  Heavy Snow falls. Crystal feathers drifting.  A soft light pushes from the apartment window  with Burning Joan's urgent cry following close behind.   'Doors are all locked, shades are pulled down. Cold outside. Nobody's home.'  Moving through the windless, wet snow, pulled  to the light.  'Grass is not green there's no rain in the air. Peer through the window. Nothing's in there.'A sparsely furnished room. A futon with lots of  ...

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“Sweet Dreams” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #250

Sweet Dreams  Mornings are my favorite time. Not because my dog licks my face to wake me up. And not because of the bowl of Cheerios with lots of sugar. It's because I survived another night. Now that the sun is out, everything is back to normal. Mom is back to normal. So is grandma, and I'm safe... for now. It's when the sun goes down that I don't like because everything changes. The trees in the yard turn into skeletons, waving their bony branches at me, reaching out to grab me. And monsters hide in the bushes, waiting for me to ...

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“Prince Charming” by G S Martin

Submitted to Contest #246

PRINCE  CHARMING g s martin 1955 Los Angeles, California. Millions of V8s spewing second-hand petrol. Leaded gas weather. Every morning, I watch the smog fill the LA basin. It looks like that picture Granny showed me of a dust storm. Smog is bad. When the brown wave gets here, breathing hurts. Like poison gas. Sometimes, the Santa Ana winds blow the smog out to sea. When that happens, the sky turns blue. There is no wind today. I just turned four. I stay at Miss Fleurette's Nursery School while my mom wraps...

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